


It Takes One Step

by ritsuizumi



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, the yuzuru and ibara relationship isnt resolved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 04:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14441388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritsuizumi/pseuds/ritsuizumi
Summary: A study on Ibara's character, from his time in the orphanage, to the military facility and to the present.





	It Takes One Step

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please check out the warnings! This is in no way meant for sexualizing any of the things warned above. For more detail, it happens in the middle when Ibara is in the military facility. It is mostly vague. Thank you.

Around the age of four, Ibara was tossed away by his parents and locked up into an orphanage. Locked up is not the term the heads of the building nor the other children who inhabited it would use, but to Ibara, it was worse than being tossed onto the streets.  
  
The constant picking, bullying and shunning that he had to deal with felt worse than being starved outside like a dog. When you are out there you can expect to be belittled, treated as if you were no longer human and did not hold a heart or feelings like the rest of the population. But behind doors, when you're constantly told to ignore it while being ignored by those you're supposed to trust— to Ibara, this felt worse.  
  
During the afternoons when all the children had finished their mediocre lunches, their happy laughing would fade down the halls and be heard faintly through the thin walls of the building outside. Ibara wouldn't look out the window in admiration— not anymore. He got tired or hearing his own sobbing and sniffling to drown out the cheerful sounds of kids playing after the first few weeks.  
  
Exploring wouldn't be exactly what Ibara considered it; the orphanage was much too small to be seen as something akin to an adventure, but while the women cleaned dishes and did laundry downstairs, for once Ibara felt like he had free reign upstairs. He would snoop through the other kid's belongings, finding it especially rewarding to find some embarrassing information on the ones who had picked on him the most.  
  
In one particular adventure he found himself in the worker's room, and he felt the most adrenaline course through him than he had ever felt in his life. He snuck around, feeling like an agent in one of the mangas he read, stumbling upon a thick book under one of the women's pillows.  
  
_The Holy Bible_ , a lot of words he couldn't understand from the title alone, but he was still intrigued by the golden text that highlighted the dark book, wondering what it could hold inside.  
  
Ibara often found himself returning to the same bed, shucking up the pillows until he found the book again. The words inside were hard, but he was intrigued nonetheless by what he could understand. Sometimes, while he was the last one sitting at the table, kicking his feet and finishing his meal, he would ask one of the workers what a particular word that intrigued him meant.  
  
By this time, he hardly heard the kids playing outside without him through the walls anymore.  
  
  
It was about a month in when he had gotten caught. Surely any smart person would have left the danger zone with the prize and return it after, but it hadn't crossed Ibara's mind until the exact owner of that bed caught him huddled under the sheets like a protective fort, bible in hands.  
  
He was ready to have his meals taken away, his behind smacked or even worse, be left outside for the night. But what he got surprised him—kindness and curiousity. The woman questioned him, her voice soft and calm, matching her features. By no time Ibara crawled out from his fort, his mouth spilling word after word about the things he had been reading, all while the woman smiled and listened. Perhaps it was because he never spoke and the walls broke down quickly the moment there was an oppurtunity.  
  
It was a few days later when she returned to Ibara, giving him the copy of her bible. He was far too young to know how to be humble, accepting it quickly with a small smile on his face. She had told him that she has read it so many times, she could practically recite it word for word. Ibara listened, eyes wide and curious as he threw countless questions about the contents of the book.  
  
A few years had passed, and Ibara had not grown an closer to anyone in the orphanage. A lot of his previous bullies had been taken away to loving families, which he would stick his tongue out with disgust upon hearing. He believed that there was no longer such a thing as a loving family, not after what his parents so heartlessly did to him.  
  
Sometimes, though, he would creak the door open while the owner and the adults discussed their adoption. Most of the conversation was boring, but Ibara felt his heart constrict when he heard the genuine happiness in the adopters voices, hearing how much they adored their choice. He didn't understand why his heart felt like that, so he immediately replaced whatever it was with disgust. It had to be.  
  
Ibara was thirteen when he was told the news. He didn't know how to take it, but like he had his whole life, he just did. They had told them in their nicest _(fakest)_ voices that it had been a long time since Ibara came here, and that they were going to send him somewhere else where he could have shelter and be of use. Ibara wasn't dumb. He knew they were tossing him away because no family wanted him. They didn't even want him.  
  
He packed his bags with the minimal things he carried, holding the bible in his hands a little too long.  
  
He tried to return it. He was a lot more awkward and humble at this age. He could recognize how beautiful the woman actually was, and he averted his eyes with a faint blush on his face as he held the bible out towards her. When she laughed and pet his head, Ibara instinctively pushed his head into the warmth for a reason he didn't understand. She told him he could keep it, and Ibara could see a melancholy look on her face as she did.  
  
When Ibara arrived at the facility, he hardly felt on edge. He might have gotten used to the feelings of fear and anxiety throughout the years. There were only adults on the shaky bus that drove them to their destination who all gave him looks. He didn't know what the looks entailed.  
  
Ibara quickly understood his surroundings. He knew exactly what he was here for when they all got off of the bus, lining up in front of it and waiting to be pat down by an officer. He had breifly thought the man's hands had lingered too long on him. The officer gave a loud speach, followed with a salute and " _yes sir_ " that Ibara had missed.  
  
After a few days Ibara started to get used to the looks and whispers around him. They all said things like _he's so young, child soldiers are allowed here, huh?, maybe he should make friends with that other kid._  
  
After days of this, he began to wonder who the other kid was. Was he like him? Was he an orphan too? Was he scared of dying— being seng into battle? The thoughts kept him up at night, more than the loud snoring of his bunk mate who definitely didn't like him being there. Ibara knew when he aggressively shoved him onto the bottom bunk and spat at him, taking the top bunk like a child.  
  
Ibara found the boy they were all talking about. They had both been assigned cleaning duty— not the kind where you mop floors, but cleaning out the used guns and making sure they were well put back together. Ibara wasn't the best at this, he had gotten punished for putting the gun back together incorrectly and didn't get dinner for two days.  
  
"Here, I'll show you," The boy's voice was calm, and he spoke in an incredibly polite manner that Ibara only heard from the workers at his orphanage. He showed Ibara exactly what to do, teaching him unlike the officers who threw a gun at him an expexted him to know what to do. Ibara learned a lot from the boy.  
  
A few days passed and they had many shifts together. Cleaning the bathrooms and lunchroom was what Ibara was good at, and he laughed when Yuzuru ( _he had recently just found out his name_ ) scolded him for sitting back and not doing work. Their commander had put Ibara under Yuzuru, figuring they could get along well, and that Yuzuru could teach Ibara what he knew.  
  
It wasn't long before Ibara had switched rooms, now sharing a bunk with Yuzuru instead. He felt an oddly, childish happiness when he wrestled Yuzuru for the top bunk and succeeded. They talked past curfew often, only getting in trouble once followed by Ibara's giggles from being scolded. Some nights, when Yuzuru was especially tired, he would stay up and read the bible. His favorite part to read was Genesis 3, he found great interest in reading about the selfishness of Adam and Eve.  
  
A few months into his training and he was already praised for his work. Sometimes Yuzuru had to leave for a few days, leaving him alone in a camp full of adults. He never admitted that this made him feel negative emotions, instead focusing on his training.  
  
It was around this time Ibara had felt the first sense of fear he had in a while overcome him. He had overheard his superiors mentioning his skill, and that had quickly led him to believe he would be sent into a real battle.  
  
He didn't want to die. Not yet. Not when he had done nothing with his time on earth. He was scared.  
  
Ibara stared at his ceiling, not hearing a noise at all. He had missed the last three meals for "slacking", as the officers had told him. He was doing it on purpose. Maybe if they saw him as lesser, he would be able to stay here and not have to be sent out to die.  
  
It was a few days later when Ibara experienced emotions worse than he had ever felt before. The colonel had wanted to speak to Ibara in his office. He assumed it was about his lack of participation, or perhaps something he had done wrong while cleaning.  
  
Ibara didn't like his office. It was dark and dull, and smelled strongly of cigar smoke. He wasn't afraid of the man.  
  
It was when he had summoned Ibara closer, around his desk closer when Ibara had started to feel a sinking feeling in his stomach. It only got worse when the man reached out to stroke his cheek.  
  
Time seemed to slow during his stay in the colonel's office. The man was not gentle with him at all, which Ibara found to be worse than the smell of the room, the grunts of the man behind him, and his own sniffling. He didn't take his time. It hurt. He just wanted the man to finish and have it be over.  
  
Ibara didn't know how long he layed on the desk after. He didn't know what to do. His body ached and he was positive that he was bleeding in multiple places. He layed there, and layed there some more. Maybe he fell asleep.  
  
When Ibara finally pulled himself together, he put his uniform back on flimsily and limped out of the room. The smell of smoke was stained into his clothes. Onto his body. In his hair. The noises kept replaying in his head, and he didn't realize he was scratching at his own skin. He wanted out.  
  
It was past curfew. No one was around. That's why Yuzuru gripping at his shoulders sent him onto the floor in a crumpled mess, hugging his own body tightly. What if it was the colonel? Someone else who wanted him— but he faintly heard the only other voice he knew through his racing mind. He clung to Yuzuru, not daring to let the tears fall. There wasn't any left.  
  
The showers were cold. Ibara didn't care. He would bathe in ice or lava if it meant the itching on his skin could leave. That the smell of smoke wouldn't be stuck to him anymore. Yuzuru wordlessly washed his friend down, not minding the cold water, or if they would get in trouble.  
  
Ibara was still shivering when they got back to their room. Yuzuru wrapped his blanket around him, which smelled comforting. It reminded him of the times they layed in the bottom bunk, lacing their legs together and telling stories to one another. Ibara didn't want to see the bruises on his skin, so he wrapped the blanket around him like a cocoon. They both fell asleep on the bottom bunk, and for the first time Ibara felt real warmth. He didn't know what affection felt like, but as he drifted off, he thought that this might be it.  
  
Days passed. More smoke. More coughing up his dinner. He stopped having to use the shower at night. He had gotten used to the smell— the feeling of grime on his skin. As long as he could go back to Yuzuru, it didn't matter.  
  
Sometimes, the colonel would praise Ibara, even if he did a bad job. When he did, Ibara could feel the glares like daggers being stabbed into him from all directions. The stares didn't hurt as bad when he had gotten jumped on his way back from training. He couldn't count the amount of men. They punched at him, kicked at him, pulled his hair and spat at him. He must have deserved it.  
  
The words they said hurt more than the physical abuse he had gotten. They called him names like _trash_ , _slut_ , _whore_ , and Ibara didn't understand why they were using these terms. He was left with less intimate bruises, and more harsh, hateful ones. His body these days seemed to be a canvas for the purple and greens that wanted to linger there, reminding him of what he was.  
  
Yuzuru had cried for him. Ibara didn't know how to react, or what to say. Lying was something Ibara had gotten good at through his years, but he supposes telling Yuzuru that he was okay might have been the worst lie he had told. Yuzuru promised to protect him. Ibara already felt protected when they lay in their bed together, with his face against Yuzuru's chest, hearing the faint thrum of his heart. It was human. It was warm. Unlike him.  
  
Maybe they were right. He was trash.  
  
A few months later and Yuzuru finally had to leave him. He was mad at him, but he didn't know why. He told himself not to grow close to anyone, and he didn't. So why was Yuzuru so different?  
  
They left on bad terms. It only caused Ibara's mood to be sour from then on. The smell of smoke made him shake again— shake like it had made him the first time. He had nothing to look forward to afterwards. Nothing but an empty bunkbed.  
  
A year had passed and Ibara finally got some good news. A family had wanted him. It didn't make him as happy as it would have when he was in the orphanage.  
  
He met the man first. He was business like, and his hair was slicked back. He held a cigar in his fingers, but Ibara ignored it, even when it made his skin itch. Like he had thought, the man was very influental. He had a wife, but Ibara was told that she couldn't make it to the meeting. The military facility disposed him as quickly as the orphanage had.  
  
His parents were kind when they talked. Ibara was fifteen when they had told him that he would be going into a school. He had been learning privately until then, but he didn't disobey his parents.  
  
Not when they needed him.  
  
Similar to how the orphange needed him to clean the table, and how the facility needed him to relieve their own stress. His parents needed him to take control of an audience that they couldn't, but an audience that he could.  
  
He was immediately put into the idol course due to influence. There was an exstensive amount of vocal and dance training he was pushed through, but nothing that he couldn't take. His resilience was strong. He made it because of that.  
  
He met another boy who he was destined to be paired with. Ibara had heard all about him during an important investigation through connected families.  
  
Ibara wasn't like the boy at all. He had been raised in a tough manner, but unlike him, he didn't seem to hold the adults, the world— himself accountable for it. He was an interesting man. He didn't understand humans or their emotions. Ibara had thought he hadn't for so long, but wasn't aware that he just didn't understand his own.  
  
Nagisa was friendly. He would pat Ibara's head and praise him, but that gave Ibara a similar itch that cigar smoke did. He had the same warmth as Yuzuru.  
  
Ibara was good for sneaking around and getting information. He was practically made for it. He had been in a cafe with a lovely young girl who seemed to give him all the blind trust in the world. Good. He could get information out of her.  
  
It didn't take a lot to dodge the sudden hot tea that had been intended to hit him. It was Yuzuru, and he was sporting the same uniform that the girl had. Except— this wasn't Yuzuru.  
  
Not the Yuzuru he had known. He remembers how good his friend's reactions were, when he would jokingly find ways to try and catch him off guard and slice his throat. This Yuzuru didn't have the same stealth, the same boldness. The same heart.  
  
It didn't feel warm. It felt cold. His heart twisted and Ibara decided years ago, when Yuzuru had left him, that this was the worst emotion a human can feel. He played it off with a smile. If there was something Ibara knew how to do well, it was lie.  
  
He hated the melancholy look in Yuzuru's eyes. He hated that it reminded him of that place. He hated that he didn't ackowledge him like he used to.  
  
He hated that he wasn't there for him.  
  
When they parted ways, Ibara couldn't hold back the distaste he felt. He knew he was only here for his parents, only supposed to be fighting to grasp the hearts of the younger audience.  
  
But he wanted to fight for himself. He wanted to do everything in his power to get his mentor— the only person who he considered a friend, and the only one who had made him feel warmth to acknowledge him. To praise him. To give him that same warmth again, even if he had to take down the world to do it.  
  
Ibara was sixteen when he took his first steps with his own two feet.  



End file.
